Long Plaster Poems

An icy chill descends on 13 Beaver Veil Cottage as sisters Ester and Ellie walk gingerly up the steps on this wet and windy night.
This once charming pied-a-terre was now in a final phase denouement.
The...

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n icy chill descends on 13 Beaver Veil Cottage as sisters Ester and Ellie walk gingerly up the steps on this wet and windy night.
This once charming pied-a-terre was now in a final phase denouement.
The...

Read More

These are prophetic poems and apocalyptic poems ...



The Vision of the Overseer’s Right Hand
by Michael R. Burch

“Dust to dust ...”

I stumbled, aghast,
into a valley of dust and bone
where all men become,
at last, the same color...

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Once the night had fallen upon a sleepless slumber,
Whence the winter woke me when the third was three in number.

I sense that a wince doth lurk and wear which wicked gaze,
Of conniving shadows cast between...

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And that is why... this platform is here for answers they can't deny...
It's a truth within a complexity that is standing high...
Let us follow the roots and explore the depths of its grand design...
Cause every...

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Make Do and Mend,

Years ago we had jobs
We had fun and money in our pocket
Things were much better then
Once you could go out the door
And never ever lock it

But still so many struggled
To buy food...

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(alternately titled: idolizing childhood's end
today April 25th, 2021
generates elusive warm treasured memories).

Akin to significance my eldest sister
felt toward her “Willies” –
(totally tubular fuzzy bendable contrivances
analogous to an outsize pipe cleaner)
until she became a tweener
my Matty...

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A wince doth lurk wearing which wicked gaze,
Of conniving cast shadows ‘tween my windowpanes.

Gazing through the window’s diaphanous gelid glass, 
I see a flushing fluorescent misty haze of frothy brass.

It floats aloft the frost of...

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Incomplete metamorphosis of distilled adolescent...

therefore he characterizes himself as an anomaly...any idea why?

Mortified, petrified, stultified, et cetera sheltered, 
and mortally wounded prepubescent,

I consider myself
analogously buttressed, cocooned,
garrisoned (for bing keeler), 
hardened, insulated,
where cell baited jumping frog
o'...

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Hello again Conscious, my dear friend
hello again dear mirror, my wake up call
hello again myself, it's too early for this but it needs to be said
No one will understand my turmoil, decisions, incentives
my numbing drive...

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Do I want to only look at new ones,
never been used,
or is that a too restrictive market,
too competitively priced
for virginity of place and relationship on Earth?
And, is such redemptively-intended virginity
an asset or a deficit,
in which...

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Visual surroundings-
Some of it are monotonous -
Tiring are Some of it sometimes-
Maybe traditional scenes
Unknowingly builds the pinnacle -
Of the dreamless minaret.

Or-
Talk about rubbish
That rains incessantly
Disturbs the Subconscious.


Rather in the darkness of decade
Or-
It can be seen...

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Are you sitting comfortably, children?
Because it's a long tale.....
Then I shall begin.

Arthur was a Mason, which in case you hadn't known
is a man who sands and chisels, making shapes from out of stone.
From animals to...

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On the spur of the moment forecast by eternal script in the stars

The Bard strummed his guitar and sung a ballade from heart’s lute 

Wild horses would not keep him away from her as he...

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Although born in Scotland I have no memories of there as we left when I was two.
My first recollections are of Las Palmos in the Canaries.
I recall the donkey passing daily and being told he...

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Wouldn't it be wonderful to wake up one morning
To find you were still a child
So much energy jumping up and down upon your bed
So many wonders and thoughts swirling through your bed
No responsibilities
Just fun and...

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Isis stole my son.
My hand was clasped, tight, I swear
Our fingers entwined, as he tugged me, eagerly, around the fair

From the ducks, to the teacups, his smile was mine alone
We were two, hand in hand,...

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dust had gathered on her many memories in outlines and heaps

had sheltered her from full on attacks of pain and self lacerations

the broom with razors attached right next to the end of the stick


inside lay...

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he was not dumb 

but he struck his thumb

now he was dumb-struck

and screamed jolly good

his hand in plaster

and bad luck his master

he could not drive his truck


to bide his time

he drank some wine

set out to...

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The Lost Years

EDIE

Edie looks well for her age,
Hard to believe she’s almost 94.
A widow wife these past 72 years,
Lost husband Bill, in the 2nd World war.

Bill was presumed killed in action,
Though his body, was never...

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Crackling tension filled the community hall in Abergavenny 

‘We are in this together dear folks for a pound or a penny’

Speaking of which the loos were situated right behind the bar

To ensure that urinal relief...

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>I have a blinking broken foot.  
By Stanley Russell Harris
The new mad author
&
Poetry soup honourably mentioned.

I have a blinking broken foot.
My left one can you not see.
The picture’s on my Facebook page.
For all of...

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Stuck down here in hell with barely ink left in my pen.
All my blood has been drained, I cannot refill it again.
I’ve done this countless times, 
As you can see my reality attached to the...

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I’m with you,
I’m without when not.

That’s how much you’ve become.
Plastered fabric enmeshed into me.
Like drywall, yet to crack, but firm and white.

Bare bones make us who we are.
I can feel yours now, I think.

The way...

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`

I opened the rusted iron gateway
bound in chain and wire, to find a landing
caked in muddied footprints, scattered about like roaches
Magpie shadows course the rain soaked streets
and puddle patterns reflect temptation as light flickers
from second...

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